


A Coat of Stars

by Barnevelder



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Piece of Posted Writing, Humor, I Have a Problem With Run-On Sentances (Call Me Out if You See Any), Satire, Supernatural Elements, Trying to Test Out Funny Writing, Trying to Write Charecter Arks, Will Probably End Up Quite Long, Would love feedback
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25215394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barnevelder/pseuds/Barnevelder
Summary: Knowing magic is real, while unable to do or say anything about it is probably worse than just not knowing or at least Lain feels that way.It has somehow managed to mess up the life that was meticulously planned for him which he figures is quite the feat itself.This started as a satire on all the stories which have a protagonist discover magic is real and they have great (Ridiculously supreme) power and learn to use it. I've always figured that in these universes if magic where real it would be because people who could do it where rare. As such if someone found they had magic it would be nearly impossible for them to find other people who could also do it. So in this Universe Lain is just screwed over by it and left hanging out by himself. With a power which could theoretically be useful but in practice is just inconvenient.





	A Coat of Stars

Lain stared at the soft paper draped menacingly over the tables corner. He uneasily stared at the black and white lettering and the scantily clad woman on the front. The newspaper seemed to almost taunt him so Lain stared at it in response hoping slightly that if he glared with enough venom it might just disappear.   
The newspaper issue was one that had been going on for quite a while, every morning he woke up to find a freshly printed copy of the Sydney morning herald staring at him. Usually accompanied by some form of a baked good, today it was a deceitful looking apple and walnut log. The menacing newspaper and deceitful patisserie sat on the table and radiated an aggressive presence.   
“look can you little bastards stop doing this” Lain yelled as he wildly gestured at the offending items.   
White eyes watched his aggressive movements for a second with nary a whisker twitch.  
After a few moments Lain sighed and marched over to the table collected the newspaper and while attempting not to look at it placed it in the bin.  
The pastry was sequestered however, placed on a small plate while he examined it. Most of the baked goods that appeared of a morning looked as though they came from a Bakers Delight a reasonable quality bakery chain.   
Sometimes he would bite into a particularly suspicious looking pastry only to find it a carnival of horrors. Like the garlic prawn pie or the spinach, apple, rhubarb, and pork crumble. It was he always found a good idea to briefly investigate the baked items to ensure that no unusual surprises are waiting for him.   
It was a weekend and unfortunately, he had finished most of his work leaving him with little to do. He disliked Saturdays amongst other things like newspapers and poorly contrived baking, but Saturdays where a thing he particularly detested. Most of the time he felt he spent them waiting for Sunday night to roll around. Yet this Saturday Lain was considering finally putting into action a plan.   
It was not great as far as plans go, he had put far too much time into all the wrong bits and was now a little bit concerned, as he had spent the last year thinking it through. He had to wait until it was dark outside before he could do anything, so he found himself waiting anyway.   
He felt drawn to the bin, to the lurking newspaper, that was typically how Saturdays went. He felt the intense desire to read the frustratingly horrible information contained within. Luckily it was a Sydney morning herald and hardly a hard-hitting journalistic endeavour, yet within moment of retrieving it from the bin Lain had questions.   
The first of these questions involved how an attractive looking woman typically clad in only the bare minimum amount of clothes publicly acceptable was always plastered on the front page.  
It’s bizarre Lain thought to himself how all these young naked women are always on the scene whenever something interesting happens. Surely interesting things must just happen to people who have few clothes on and are attractive. If the Sydney morning herald is to be believed young attractive women who are nudists must have amazingly interesting lives.   
Yet after the brief interlude that the hard-hitting journalism of “Teen Surfers speak out about NAPLAN test stress” provided he was into the horrors of intercity politics.  
Lain found himself getting outraged at sports rorts and money funnelling along with the obligatory stadium funding money scandal. After several hours of yelling at the newspaper to the general amusement of his dead eyed whiskered companions, Lain realised that it was already getting dark. This he thought is why I avoid the bloody newspapers.   
Sprinting outside with a quick look at his watch he noted the time 5:48, the door was locked and he had about 8 minutes before they would be following him. If he got to the hardware store in under 20 minutes he could spend 20 minutes there before they caught up with him.   
Well he figured because if they left 8 minutes after he did traveling half as fast it would take them 48 minutes to get to the place it took him 20 minutes to get to. He would have 28 minutes, or at least he thought he would.   
The drive was a peaceful one, Lain felt quite happy on his own finally free of his several dozen permanent whiskered guests. He figured their stay was mostly his fault he had put the traps out after all.   
As he arrived at the hardware store, he looked about for the wood first he needed 14 long beams each about a metre. He also needed some tarps, hinges, nails, a hammer, screws, an electric drill, several metres of chicken wire and several hundred car hangers. it took half the time he thought it would get everything he needed loaded up onto a trolly.   
With his pile of hardware paid for and loaded in the car Lain found himself briefly relaxing he had finally done it, he had left the house. No one had seen them it was by all accounts a raging success. His moment of quite reflection was disturbed when shadows skittered their way across the carpark his wild success quickly diminishing in value. The drive home was less peaceful, Lain worried now. What if someone saw them and associated them with him. What if they were caught on the camera?  
The car ride home was an exercise in anxiety control, as hundreds of potential errors flashed before his eyes. He was beginning to regret his ingenious plan. It was becoming obvious that so much as stepping outside the house was a serious risk. Breathing was becoming harder and he was having trouble keeping his eyes on the road.   
He just needed to keep on driving. He needed to get back home before he passed out.   
Gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip as he focused on the road the edge of his vision becoming blurry.   
Sunday 12/07/20  
Focusing on the road made his breathing easier and after a few kilometres of ignored lights and hastily past stop signs Lain felt better. He had rapidly reconsidered the effectiveness of his plan and realised almost immediately it was neither as clever or revolutionary as he had thought it was. Lain sighed as he pulled into the isolated driveway and felt the car jump and judder as its wheels forced themselves over tree roots.   
He wasn’t looking forward to unloading the wood and materials from the car. His panic attack seemed to have driven most of the vigour he had for this idea out of him and now he just wanted to sit and rest somewhere. 

It was early morning, sunlight was shining directly into his eyes, his back hurt and he felt thirstier than he had ever felt.   
Lain quickly realised this was because he was still in the car. Half splayed over the console with his legs bent in towards himself. The moment he moved he realised the horrific error he made as sharp spasming pain racked his leg. Opening the car door, he half fell out sprawling on the ground.  
Standing up and marching back and forth to sooth his cramping leg Lain soon found himself face to face to his hoard. At least during the day, they were less terrifying. Small eyeless sockets peered at him as though some small hint of curiosity remained in the near skeletal body.   
Looking at them he still felt at pang of guilt their small bodies crushed beneath rat traps that had been placed without any real consideration.   
At first, they were a wonder. A secret reminder that there was something beyond the dull monotonous world. Yet as time had moved on, they were simply a eerie hoard of creatures that seemed determined to ruin his life.   
Sometime Lain liked to think they where some form of revenant ghosts come to take revenge against him for killing him.   
That wouldn’t really explain the newspapers though, or the baked goods. Although in some way they too could be a means to torment him.   
With a sigh he moved on hyperaware of the indignant eyes that followed his every move grabbing lumber from the back of his car he dragged it inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I would REALLY appreciate it if anyone who reads this gives me some good feedback. I am trying desperately to improve my writing skills and would love any feedback you lovely AO3 people can muster.   
> This is the first piece of writing i have ever put up upon the Internets and i would love some feedback.


End file.
